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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272732">Captured In His Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taurik_Valen/pseuds/Taurik_Valen'>Taurik_Valen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Picard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputee main character, Angst, Bonded!Syrios, Hurt Cristóbal Rios, Implied Past Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Mental Conditioning, Implied/Referenced Past Torture, M/M, POW S'vec Sylar, Phaser Burns, Self-Harm, Self-Harming S'vec Sylar, Self-Loathing, Self-harm as penance, Shooting The Hostage (trope), Syrios, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan soulbonds, media tie-in</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:48:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taurik_Valen/pseuds/Taurik_Valen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar shot Rios to save his life. Rios thinks Sylar is his hero, but Sylar believes that nothing could be further from the truth. Teaser for an upcoming thread.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Captured In His Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristobalrios/gifts">cristobalrios</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: Shooting a hostage in the leg is NOT preferable, even for a trained physician like Sylar. A better target, should the situation prove to be absolutely dire and require drastic action, is the hand or the foot. The only reason Sylar shot Rios in the leg was due to the position in which the captain was being held.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cold steel. The sensation of the world slowing down to a heartbeat. Perfect calm in a sea of chaos. Scarred fingertips curling around the handle of the phaser. Four words, spoken far too late. </p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, my love.  </em>
</p><p>S'vec Rios Sylar tightened his grip on his weapon despite the agonising pain of performing such an action with bleeding, blistered hands and fired again. </p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, my love.  </em>
</p><p>Sorry wasn't enough, sorry did nothing against the still-echoing screams of the man he loved as the phaser blasts tore mercilessly through his body. Sylar pursed his lips and fired another shot at the target, brow furrowed, damaged hands trembling despite his efforts. </p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, my love.  </em>
</p><p>Shooting a hostage to save them was perfectly logical; that was not what the Vulcan was sorry for. His aim, however, his terrible, untrained aim, that was one thing that bore no logical significance. He was sorry for never training as he should, for needing to fire five shots into his husband's leg instead of one. He was so very sorry for that, and even the blood trickling down his arms with every shot he put into the practice target did nothing to ease his regret, his resentment for his actions. </p><p>His nails dug into the unforgiving metal of the phaser, forcing more pressure against his hypersensitive hands on purpose. He deserved this pain. He deserved it, all of it, for what he had done. </p><p>He fired again. And again. Rios had looked almost <em> betrayed </em> when Sylar had shot him, his fear had momentarily flashed through the telepathic bond, long before he'd collapsed, cradling his mangled leg. And it was then Sylar knew that he did not deserve this man. </p><p>Rios deserved better than him. He deserved better than a killer. He deserved someone who could love him with the same amount of dedication that Rios himself put into the relationship, not an unempathetic Vulcan whose confidence in himself had been so high he'd dismissively forgone proper phaser training in his youth. That overconfidence had been the reason he'd never worked to perfect his aim past the passable stage. He'd been an illogical, arrogant child, Sylar thought harshly, although this was completely untrue - he'd simply made an inexperienced error in judgment.</p><p>But there was room for error in the Tal Shiar, no room for error when you stood among their ranks, even as a prisoner stripped of rights and free will. </p><p>As Sylar continued to shoot at his target, there was still no emotion in him, only deep resentment for his imperfection, his failure as both soldier and husband. If this were Romulus, he'd already be bent under an electric whip, beaten until he could no longer think coherent thoughts, until his discipline had been broken cleanly through, until he had learned the true gravity of the situation. </p><p>But this was not Romulus. Romulus had burned years ago. </p><p>No… Once Rios had been physically healed enough to remove him from immediate danger, he had insisted that Sylar was to be thanked, not punished for his quick thinking, held him, praised him - all reactions the Vulcan knew that he did not deserve. </p><p>Although to be fair, when had he ever deserved the undying love of this beautiful, courageous man? Never, was the answer. He did not deserve Cristóbal Rios. He would never deserve him. </p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, my love.  </em>
</p><p>What use was his apology? What use was an apology from someone who could not feel guilt? Sylar's tremor increased as he fired another round of phaser blasts into the mostly-melted target, more blood trickling down his arms as he struggled to perfect the projected trajectory and failed, palms aflame with what felt like hordes of angry Terran ants. He had to correct his error. He had to. He was a soldier and a soldier could afford to make no mistakes. </p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, my love.  </em>
</p><p>Yet he had already made a fatal one. </p><p>He fired again and again until the phaser was out of charge, until his legs gave way beneath him and  he was kneeling on the cold floor, the now-useless weapon in one hand and the equally useless apology dead on his lips. </p><p>His body ached, but he was numb. He was numb everywhere. All the effort, all this pain, it was meaningless if he could not repent for his actions, learn what he'd neglected to learn all those years ago. </p><p>Sylar inclined his head and swallowed hard against dry throat.</p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, my love.  </em>
</p><p>And he meant every word, as though that would make any difference in the world.</p><p>It did not.</p>
  </div></div>
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